Changing Minds
by ChaoticClara
Summary: After the Dark Lord's rise to power, circumstances allow two people to change their minds about events and each other. Eventual SS/HG. Slightly AU since Snape survives. Rated M for later chapters with good reason.
1. Chapter 1

_AN:  
_This story begins where HBP ends. Hermione has returned home after her sixth year at Hogwarts. It will continue until post DH.

Thanks go to my wonderful Beta MuseyMuse.

Since this is my first published Fanfic, I'd love to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading!

**Anti Legislation Charm**: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. All characters and situations will be returned unharmed.

* * *

**One**

Hermione was sitting at her desk in her bedroom. She had returned home from Hogwarts only two weeks ago, realising just how little her parents' house felt like home to her. After the first year at Hogwarts she had relished getting back to her old life. A life she'd still perceived as normal. But over the years she had felt more and more out-of-place. Her bedroom felt more like a distant memory of what had been, than anything that was part of her now.

She rubbed her hands over her eyes, looking up from the sheets of parchment lying neatly on her desk. It was dark outside, and the only light came from the old reading lamp on her desk.

Again she rubbed her hands over her eyes, willing the tiredness to go away. Ever since she had returned she had become more and more exhausted. She was afraid. And lonely. Ron was at his parents, and she would join him soon. She smiled at the thought. Ron. Always so cheerful and boisterous. Always able to take the edge of every unnerving situation. But there was something she had to do first.

Sighing she returned her attention to the parchment. They contained all her notes on memory charms. After Dumbledore's death she'd made her decision. She needed to protect her parents, and there was only one way.

But memory charms were difficult. She had to be careful. If she wiped too much of their memory they might end up like Gilderoy Lockhart.

Hermione shuddered. If there was one thing in her life she wasn't proud of, it was her silly infatuation with Gilderoy Lockheart. And her unbelievably stupid trust in Snape. He'd betrayed them. He'd proven just how foul, cold-hearted and evil he was. Far worse, thought Hermione, than that Dark Lord of his.

Shaking her head to clear her thoughts, Hermione rose. She needed tea. A big cup of strong tea to chase away the dark thoughts. She had a memory charm to prepare and no time to waste.

Just as she was closing the door, she heard it. A creak. From her room. As if the window was being opened. Hermione froze. Her room was on the first floor, who could possibly open the window?

But there it was again. A creak. And something that sounded almost like the rustling of robes.

Without thinking she thrust the door open, her wand raised. But what she saw made her stop dead. Someone was standing in her room, black robes billowing around him, a nasty smirk playing around his lips.

"You!" Hermione hissed, her wand still raised.

"Good evening to you too, Miss Granger." Snape's drawl was devoid of any emotion.

"Get out!" Hermione spat, pointing at him with her wand.

"Or what?" Snape mockingly raised an eyebrow. "You'll turn me into a toad?"

"I'll …" But she never got any further. With a lazy flick of his wand and a muttered "_Expelliarmus!" _Snape disarmed her, her wand flying neatly into his outstretched hand.

"No, I didn't think you would, Miss Granger." He was examining her wand now. "I've been your teacher. I know duelling isn't your strong point."

Hermione glared at him. _How dare he! _She thought, so filled with rage that she forgot to be afraid.

"Well, Miss Granger. I believe you were on your way to the kitchen?"

"What do you care?"

"Tea." He replied. Hermione just stared at him. Snape sighed, and continued as if he was speaking to an excessively stupid child: "I would like a cup of tea."

"No."

Snape sighed. "Not a very gracious hostess, are you?"

"How dare you break into my house and demand," Hermione's voice was shrill with anger "anything of me!"

"Indeed." Snape snickered. "If brewing a cup of tea is beyond your skills, perhaps I should kill or torture you instead?"

"Why don't you?" Hermione almost shrieked.

"Why would I?"

Hermione stared at him, her nostrils flaring. "Because I'm on Harry's side."

"Ah yes." Snape _almost _looked amused. "You always were full of yourself, Miss Granger. Now,please proceed to the kitchen,or do I have to make you?"

"You can't make me." Hermione squirmed at her own words. They were stupid, and untrue.

"Quite to the contrary." Snape drawled, walking closer to her with his wand pointing at her. "Now go. I am not a patient man."

Hermione gave him a last glare before turning around and heading downstairs. She could hear the rustling of his robes behind him and feel his cold eyes boring into the back of her head. Remembering his skill for legilimency she desperately tried to think of nothing, but her anger kept clouding her mind.

"I was not aware that I could evoke such feeling." Snape commented, his voice somewhere between amused and teasing. Hermione turned, and glared at him.

"I hate you." She spat.

"Yes, I can see that." Snape met her eyes. "Save it for someone more deserving of it."

"No one is more deserving, I can assure you!"

"Hardly, Miss Granger." Snape's snicker was back again. "Now: Tea!"

Without further conversation they walked into the kitchen. Hermione proceeded to brew two cups of tea, while Snape watched her every move. His face was unreadable.

Hermione did consider throwing the kettle into his face. But she also knew it was of no use. He had her wand. Little by little her reason won over anger in the battle for her wits. While deliberately slowly pouring hot water into the two cups she considered Snape's motives. What did he want with her? And why hadn't he done so already.

She pushed one cup towards him, while eyeing him closely. He looked gaunt. _He always looks gaunt _But he did look more gaunt than normal. His cheeks were more hollow,his skin paler. He looked tired. Very tired. _Serves him right. _Hermione thought.

Snape however seemed to be in no hurry to explain what he wanted from her. He was looking at her, his expression still unreadable. The silence between them became tense.

"Well?" Hermione broke the silence. "What do you want from me?"

Snape blinked, then refocused on Hermione. "Your parents."

Hermione straightened instinctively. "They aren't here!"

"I know." Snape looked irritated. "They are at your mother's friends house, playing bridge."

Hermione stared at him, mouth open. "They aren't..." she broke of.

"In danger?" Snape finished her sentence. "That depends on your will to cooperate."

"Then what do you want?" Hermione's voice had become shrill again. She was frustrated now. What did that man want with her? And why didn't he just get it over with?

Snape, however, slowly raised an eyebrow. "You always were best at theoretical exercises."

Hermione just glared at him. She doubted very much that Severus Snape had broken into her parent's house in order to give her an assessment of her academical performance.

"You are irritated because you cannot deduce why I am here." Snape's voice had become almost like honey. Dark, sweet, sticky honey. "Because you do not know everything, because you have not been able to prepare yourself." Snape took a sip from his tea. "Because there is no book, no _theory, _that can prepare you for what is to come."

Somehow Hermione registered that the last sentence could have been a threat. But it hadn't been. Had it? Crossing her arms in front of her chest, in some vain hope of showing defiance, Hermione looked at him. There was very little she could reply. She always performed best when she knew the theory. That was why she had always loathed DADA. And Quidditch. Especially Quidditch.

"Tell me what you know." Snape said.

"No." Hermione replied flatly.

Snape inhaled noisily, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

"Miss Granger." He spoke slowly, as if mustering every ounce of patience. "I am quite certain that you have already registered that you are at a disadvantage. You have no wand. I have two. You are a Muggleborn. I am a known Death Eater. Need I spell it out for you?"

He had said Muggleborn. Not Mudblood, but Muggleborn.

"So. Tell. Me. What. You. Know."

"About what?"

"What happened after Dumbledore's death?"

"After you killed him, you mean!" Hermione retorted. Snape's face turned into a mask of anger, disgust and a loathing so fierce, Hermione shrank back.

"Talk!" Snape hissed.

And so Hermione began talking. She said as little as she could, focusing on inane details. Who had been at the funeral, about the eulogy of the little, boring man, and about Fawkes. Snape did not seem to mind, but was staring at her with intense eyes, as if trying to learn much more from her than she put into words. Hermione was quite certain that he did.

"And after the funeral the students went home. On the Express." Hermione ended her account. Snape held her gaze for a while.

"And you are going to change your parents' memory." He stated. Hermione couldn't hide her surprise. Snape merely shrugged. "I've been watching you for some time now. Your plan has been quite obvious."

"You've been watching me?"

"Obviously."

"Why?"

"The Dark Lord has his reasons."

"That's not an answer!" Hermione's voice pitched in frustration. Again. She needed to work on that.

"Perhaps not." Snape took another sip of his tea. "As to your parents' memories."

"What about them?" Hermione felt they were going in circles. Snape was frustrating her, but the more irritated she got, the more he seemed to enjoy the situation. If she didn't know better, she would almost say that he was amused.

"Changing a significant part of someone's mind is very difficult without causing very damaging side-effects."

"I know that." she hissed.

"Let me finish, Miss Granger." Snape's voice was close to a hiss. "You always had a tendency to jump to conclusion. Now is not the time. Patience!"

"Says the man who isn't patient!" Hermione snapped back.

"Would you rather I tortured you, Miss Granger?" The hungry gleam in Snape's black eyes scared her into silence. She shook her head.

"Then stay quiet." Snape pinned her with his black orbs for a moment before continuing: "You cannot change their dreams or desires. You can change the importance of them, but you cannot instil new desires where none have been. It is a fundamental magic law. Name it."

Hermione stared at her former professor. Was he seriously asking her questions about he Transfiguration syllabus?

Snape's eyebrow was slowly being raised, his expression somewhere between bemused and triumphant. "Have I posed a question the famous Hermione Granger, cleverest witch of her generation, cannot answer?"

The sarcasm in his drawl made Hermione glare at him. Again. Not that her glares had any visible effect. Unable to stand Snape's look of triumph she replied: "Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration."

"It seems you have not lost all of your wits, then." Snape drawled "Though hardly for want of trying."

Snape sipped at his tea again. He seemed to be waiting for something. Hermione kept looking at him, still trying to figure out what was going on. He wasn't here to discuss mind-magic, surely?

After a few moments Snape seemed to become impatient: "Gamp's law ties into your parents' memories how?"

Hermione stared at him. And then with the force of a galloping hippogriff it hit her. "That is why they won't leave for the States. I've been trying to change their memories for days and it hasn't worked! It all makes sense." Hermione beamed a smile at her former professor. Snape however was staring at his tea.

"Sir?" Hermione's voice had changed. It was kinder, and the shrill tone was gone. Snape lifted his gaze to meet hers, his eyes as cold as ever. "Why are you helping me?"

"You have a task to perform, miss Granger." His voice had lost any trace of sarcasm or bitterness. Knowing Snape, Hermione was tempted to call it kind. "And your focus on saving your parents is taking your attention from more important matters. The longer you wait, the less preparation will you have. The Dark Lord isn't idle, and nor should you be."

Hermione nodded. Despite everything, what Snape said made sense. The only thing that did not make sense was that it was coming from him. From the very man who had betrayed the Order's and -more importantly – _her _trust. From the man who had killed Dumbledore.

"How do I know I can trust you?" She asked, but she did not meet his eyes.

"You don't." He answered. "But you need help, if you want to remove yourself from your parents' memory."

Hermione nodded. It was true. It was one of the problems she had pondered during the last few days. That if she cast the charm removing her from her parents' memory, the charm would be very weak. Her magic would leave a fingerprint in their minds. And a print left by someone as loved as a daughter would leave a memory. Perhaps only a very faint one, but one that would be present, and possibly lift the charm.

"Are you suggesting that you do it?" Hermione asked, still perplexed. Whatever she had expected when she had recognized him in her room, this was definitely not it.

"Unless you want your friend Weasley to do it for you?" Snape's voice was dripping with sarcasm. Hermione shook her head.

"But why?" Hermione asked again.

"I've already told you this." Snape replied, sounding irritated. "Potter needs you."

"But we wont begin..." Snape's glare shut Hermione up immediately,

"I know." he replied. "But you might want to prepare yourself."

"And how should I do that? I have no idea what is going to happen..." Hermione's voice was bordering on shrill.

Snape sighed, his eyes flickering to the watch on the wall. "Do you know exactly which questions will be asked of you in the exams, Miss Granger?" His voice had turned into the drawl she knew so well from classes.

She shook her head. Snape's eyebrow was raised inquisitively.

"Of course." Hermione muttered. "I need to prepare for every eventuality." She sighed. "If I only knew what we needed."

"I have to go." Snape said, his eyes at the watch. "Your parents will be home any minute."

Hermione stared at him. He had broken into her house, threatened her with torture and now he was worried that her parents might catch a glimpse of him?

"They don't bite." She said, before thinking.

"But they might contaminate me with their muggleness." His reply was coated in sarcasm. Hermione shuddered. "I'll be back tomorrow."

With a curt nod Snape turned, his robes billowing around him. He strode purposefully out of the kitchen, and through the hall. A few seconds later Hermione heard the front door opening and closing. She sighed, and finally took a sip of her tea. It was cold.

A few minutes later Mr and Mrs Granger entered the kitchen to find their daughter, an almost full cup of tea in her hand, staring at an empty cup on the table.

"Hello, darling!" Mrs Granger said. Hermione looked up, surprised, but managed a small smile. "Had a friend over?" Mrs Granger indicated the empty cup. Hermione looked at it for a moment before replying.

"Yes. You could say that."

"Someone we know?" Mr Granger inquired.

"No, just someone from school."

* * *

That night sleep eluded Hermione. She lay in her bed, staring into the darkness. After her parents had come home she'd returned to her room, cursing Snape. He'd taken her wand, and somehow he'd made her believe that he was one of the good guys.

To her surprise her wand had been lying on her desk. There had been no note, just an open window. Hermione had made sure to lock the window with every defensive and protective spell she could recall.

Again her thoughts returned to the conversation she had had with Snape. Or rather, the conversation he'd had with her. She hated him. Despised him. He had killed Dumbledore, and even so he dared show up here and help her? Act as if he was one of the good guys. Harry had seen him kill Dumbledore, and surely, if he was on their side, he would never have done that.

Hermione sighed, and punched her pillow into a more comfortable shape. But if Snape knew she was here, if he so easily could break into her house, why hadn't he acted more like a Death Eater? He hadn't tortured her, abducted her, or killed her. He'd treated her close to cordially. Cordially in the sense that he hadn't deducted any points from Gryffindor or given her a detention.

Again Hermione sighed, and turned to lie on the other side, staring at the wall. There had been something else, though. Something in his eyes. If they hadn't been Snape's, she would have been tempted to call it desperation.

Biting her lips Hermione sighed once more. Truth was that her frustration wasn't due to her former potions professor. It was herself. He'd hardly barged into her room before she had told him too much. If he hadn't stopped her, she'd have told him about Harry and the wedding. She had been stupid. Did she really need to prove her intellect to her former professor to such a degree, that she was willing to tell him everything she knew about Harry and the Order? Cursing herself Hermione tossed in bed once more. Snape had said he would return. And Hermione dreaded it. Even though she did not want to admit it, she was at his mercy. He had proven that he could make her do anything without any real effort on his part.

_Bastard_. She thought. Not really sure whom she meant.

Unable to find sleep, Hermione got up. If Snape had been right about Gamp's elemental law of transfiguration (and she believed that to be very likely) she would never succeed in making her parents want to move to the States. Instead she'd suggest Australia, where her parents had honeymooned. And she might just as well cast the spell now while her parents were fast asleep.

* * *

The next day Hermione was divided between dread and relief. Her parents had talked about nothing but their new wish to return to Australia, to the point where they considered moving there when Hermione had graduated from Hogwarts. But on the other hand there was the business with Snape and his promised return.

The day went by at a tormentingly slow pace. Even though Hermione busied herself with improving her beaded bag, drawing up a prioritised inventory of what they might need, and making lists of what she had and what needed to be procured, her eyes strayed to the windows more frequent than they ought.

She didn't relish the thought of spending time with Snape. He wasn't what she considered pleasant company. But then again. Hadn't she been hoping for some kind of recognition from him? Hadn't she been concentrating ferociously on potions just to impress him? Surely, his visit could be seen as some kind of acknowledgement?

Hermione glanced at the window again. It was getting dark outside. But still there was no sign of black, swirling robes.

And why had he chosen her? If he intended to help with Harry's quest, he might as well just have found him. She was certain You-Know-Who knew the exact location of Harry's home, and if Snape had so easily been able to break into her home, why didn't he just find Harry and talk to him?

Hermione shook her head, and concentrated on sorting her books after relevance. Arriving at 'Hogwarts, a History' she stopped. She'd read it several times, especially in her first year. But now? Would she return there? Wiping a hand across her eyes, she ignored the clench of her heart. Best not to think of those things. Determinedly she put the book in the 'perhaps' pile. Even though she'd done what she could, the beaded bag had its size limits.

* * *

The house was empty, apart from herself. Her parents had left for a birthday party at her aunt's, but Hermione had faked a head-ache. She was pacing the floor, her hand on her wand, casting glances at the clock on the wall.

He had said he would come. Why didn't he just get it over with?

And then the doorbell rang. The tone so shrill, Hermione was halfway through an expelliarmus before she placed the sound. Her wand raised she walked to the door, and looking out through the window next to it, recognised the billowing robes. He had returned. Alone.

She hesitated before opening the door. But she had know, from the moment he had announced he would return, that she would open it. Her curiosity got the better of her.

"Well?" Snape's face held no trace of his signature smirk. "Will you invite me in?"

Hermione opened the door wider.

"With words, miss Granger." Snape almost sighed. "If I am to perform powerful magic in your house, an invitation would be appropriate."

"I'm not really sure I want you to perform powerful magic here."

"Well." The smirk had returned. "Since it is your parent's memory that is at stake, I don't particularly care about the outcome. You might."

Hermione glared at him. "Well then. Come in, professor Snape."

Inclining his head, Snape crossed the threshold. Hermione swallowed. There was no going back now.

Not really certain what to say, Hermione did what her parents had taught her proper hostesses do: "Tea?"

Snape merely nodded.

And so they returned to the kitchen. Hermione brewed tea (a whole pot, this time) and Snape watched her. She poured two cups and sat down opposite her former potions professor.

For several moments they sat in utter silence.

"Well then." Hermione cleared her throat. "Why are you here?"

"I do believe we covered that yesterday, Miss Granger." Snape replied. "Is your memory really that short-lived?"

"No." She took a sip of her tea. "I just don't understand why you are doing this."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "As long as you fear for your parents' safety, you will not be able to focus on helping Potter." He pinned her with his black eyes. "I believe Dumbledore left a very important task to him. And knowing Potters inadequacy he will most likely fall over his own feet if there is no one around to help him."

"So all this is because you want me to help Harry?"

"Potter does not concern me. His task does."

"I just don't understand..." Hermione's voice trailed of as she saw Snape's glare.

"What, pray tell me, is it you do not understand?" Snape hissed. "I want this over and done with as soon as possible, and as long as Potter isn't out there, doing what Dumbledore wants him to do, the Dark Lord's power will increase."

"But..."

"But _what_, Miss Granger?"

"But you killed Dumbledore?" The words were out of Hermione's mouth before she could stop herself.

Instantly Snape had risen, loathing, disgust, and hatred etched into his every feature. He glared at her, teeth bared in a snarl, but he said nothing. He just glared.

Hermione returned his stare evenly, though not unkindly. Because suddenly she realised what had happened.

"He asked you to, didn't he?" Her voice was quiet, calm. And devoid of any accusations.

Slowly Snape's face relaxed. He sat down, his eyes still fixed on Hermione's. But they weren't cold any more. Just tired.

"The hand." Hermione stated. "I should have realised it earlier. I'm sorry."

Snape looked at his tea. "You have no reason to."

"I think I do." She answered. "It can't be easy, what you are doing."

Snape's cold gaze pinned her again, his lips twisted into his cold snarl again. "Ah, yes, of course the Gryffindor Know-It-All would know exactly what it is I do. And how it feels to watch innocent people suffer, when the only thing I can do to ease their pain is to ensure a quick death?"

Hermione winced. "No, sir." she tried hard to keep her voice even. "I don't. I just thought..."

"Don't." Snape cut her off. For a moment contempt flickered in his eyes, but Hermione wasn't sure.

"Still." Hermione insisted. "You deserve our thanks."

Snape snorted. "Save your thanks for a better time, miss Granger. There is plenty of suffering yet to endure. And nothing is decided yet. In the end everything you or I have done may be for naught."

"Intentions are important as well." Hermione said.

"Ah yes, the greater good." Snape's voice was thick with contempt. "It is good to know that all the suffering is at least caused by _good intentions."_

Hermione swallowed, and could not meet Snape's eyes.

They sat in silence a bit longer.

"You were right." Hermione said finally. "About Gamp's law."

"Of course." Snape replied.

_Arrogant git! _Hermione thought.

"You managed to change their dreams?"

"Yes. They want to move to Australia."

There was more silence.

"When their memory is altered, you will have to leave immediately." This time Snape broke the silence.

"I know."

"Are you prepared."

"Yes." Hermione sighed. "Only..."

"What?"

"I realised I might not be returning to Hogwarts."

"Are you certain you wish to tell this to your headmaster, miss Granger." Snape's smirk was back. "You are studying for your NEWTs after all. The Ministry does not like it when students shirk their duties."

"But..." He couldn't seriously be chastising her about _shirking_?

"Admitting that you plan on skipping school for an entire year is hardly wise."

"I... er... no, sir." His voice was smug now. Could it be...

"The Ministry is very strict on education."

...Humour?Was this Snape being _funny_?

"I was hoping you wouldn't tell them, sir."

"Indeed?" He paused. "Asking a Slytherin a favour is dangerous business, Miss Granger. But I think your comment may just slip my mind."

Hermione merely swallowed. Humour it might have been. But he was still Slythrin enough to make her owe him a debt. Another debt.

Again they sat in silence, before they finally broached the subject of how her parents' memory should be altered.

Hermione stiffened as she heard the key being turned in the lock. Exchanging a last glance with Snape, Hermione went into the hall.

"Hermione, dear." her mother smiled a tired smile. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." Hermione replied, her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Is something the matter?" her father looked at her with concern.

"It's just," Hermione shook her head, forcing tears away. This was her last goodbye, her last precious moment with her parents. In a few moments they'd be Mr and Mrs Wilkins, with no recollection of her. And she would be alone, going off to fight a war against the mightiest dark wizard of the century.

Hermione looked at them, allowing her one last look, storing it as a treasured memory. "I'll miss you."

"Miss us?" Her mother asked, with a confused smile. "But you've only just returned for holiday, dear."

"I know." Hermione hugged her mother first, then her father. "I was just afraid I might forget to say it."

Her parents looked at her nonplussed. She smiled at them, one last time. "I'll go to bed." She said. And as she had taken a few steps up the stairs, she turned, wand in hand, and cast two body-binding spells.

"I'm sorry!" She croaked.

Hearing the door from the kitchen open, she turned around and fled up the stairs into her room. Angrily she wiped away the tears that fell down her cheek. There was no time now.

* * *

The door opened slowly. In the reflection of the window she could see the black robes, swirling around his long frame.

"It is done." Snape's voice was quiet.

Hermione turned around, looking at him. His face was neutral, apart from something around his eyes. "How are they?"

"Perfectly fine." His voice was soft, hardly more than a whisper. And warm. Hermione closed her eyes, biting her lips to stop her tears. This was not the time for crying. Composing herself she opened her eyes.

"You must leave soon." And still his voice was soft, almost soothing. Hermione raised her gaze, searching his eyes. And somewhere, hidden deep in the depth of the black orbs she saw understanding and pain. She nodded. And not knowing what made her do it, without thought or motive, she flung her arms around him.

And just as suddenly and quickly she took a step back. She met his gaze, her eyes determined, and any trace of despair or sadness gone. "Thank you!" she said, and turning on the spot she apparated, her beaded bag in her hand.

Snape's face was unreadable as ever. But his eyes were fixed at the spot where she had been standing just seconds before. With a contemptuous sneer and a shake of his head, he too turned on the spot and apparated, burying everything that had happened in a hidden and secluded part of his memory.


	2. Chapter 2

_AN: _Thank you for the kind reviews! This is my first published fic, so I love to hear your thoughts.

Thanks are due to my wonderful Beta Musey Muse.

**Anti Legislation Charm**: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story. All characters and situations will be returned unharmed.

* * *

**Two**

Hermione was cold, hungry, and tired. Shivering, she pulled the blankets tighter around her, knowing it wouldn't help. The cold did not come from her surroundings, it came from that aching gap inside of her. The first small cracks had begun to appear when they had started taking turns wearing the locket. For each fight and disagreement the cracks had deepened and widened. And when he had left, the fissure had turned into gap. A gap that was slowly turning into a gaping hole, from where coldness seemed to seep into her every fibre. Trying to disappear further into the blankets, Hermione tried to push him from her mind. She did not want to think of him. Of his betrayal. Of how he had just left her here. Alone.

Irritated she shifted in the chair. She wasn't alone. Harry was here. He had left her alone with him. Alone to help Harry carry his burden, to try to find solutions to all the blasted riddles, to help Harry save the world.

Shaking her head, she tried to dispel her thoughts. She knew it didn't do to dwell on these things. It was not productive. She should be reading. Slowly her eyes returned to the closed edition on the table. It was Dumbledore's biography, and she detested it. At first she had disliked it because it was so thoroughly the work of Rita Skeeter. But after reading Dumbledore's letter to Grindelwald, dislike had turned into mortification.

_The Greater Good._

For days those three words had haunted her. And with them memories of what she and others had been through. But mostly she heard them spoken in a dark, velvety voice, soft, deep and stinging, seeing in her mind two dark, almost black eyes, glittering with contempt and pain.

Frustration had turned into apathy. There were enough worries to keep her thoughts occupied, but very little she could do. They had almost no food left. Harry was getting even worse. And none of them knew what to do next.

Again her eye strayed to the book on the table. She did not feel like reading it again, but neither did she feel like rereading _Tales of Beedle the Bard_. There was something she was missing, something Dumbledore wanted her to find. But why hadn't he just spelled it out more clearly? Told Harry what to do? Instead of sending them on this wild goose chase through every deserted part of Britain in order to find trinkets. What did he expect from them? From _her_? That she could simply guess his thoughts and plans from a children's book?

Exasperated Hermione reached out for the biography once more. There was something in there. Something important she hadn't found.

But before her hand reached it she stilled. Something was wrong. No, she corrected herself, not wrong. Just different. The sounds were less muffled, and something – no, someone – was here.

Panic grabbed at her. Harry had her wand. There was nothing she could do to protect herself. And then she heard it. The sound of rustling robes, and the zip in the door of the tent.

Unthinking Hermione grabbed the book and sprang from the chair, ready to hurl it at anyone who dared to enter the tent.

"You!" She sighed in relief, as she recognised the figure entering the tent. She dropped the book back on the table.

"Good day to you too, Miss Granger." Snape's replied, his eyebrow arching as he noticed the book in her hand. "Were you planning to stun me with a book, this time?"

"Harry has my wand." She replied. "How did you find us?"

"By exploiting all my Slytherin traits." He shrugged. "It is not common knowledge where you are, if that was your worry."

Hermione nodded, relieved at this. Trying to smile, she faltered, noticing how tired he looked. She remembered his haunted look when she had last seen him, but somehow he managed to look even worse. His sallow skin was almost pulled tight around his skull, his eyes sunken, framed by black patches. Even his movements seemed tired.

"You look dreadful." The words were barely audible. A short, contemptuous smile flickered across his features, giving him some resemblance of his former self.

"You hardly look peachy yourself, Granger." he replied. Hermione felt her cheeks burn. She hadn't looked in a mirror since ... she couldn't remember since when.

"What are you doing here?"

"Making sure Potter gets his hands on the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Oh. Why?"

"I was hoping you knew that, Miss Granger."

"What?" Hermione was momentarily bewildered. "Oh yes, of course I know. Does Harry have it?"

"Presumably."

"You didn't give it to him?"

"No." Snape's mouth curled into a snarl. "I did not trust Potter to welcome me with anything resembling decorum. And even though I am used to unpleasantries, I have no desire to spend more time with Potter than absolutely necessary."

Hermione swallowed. She was perfectly aware of what Snape had just said. Or, well, not said. Unable to ignore the small sting of pride, she flashed a smile at him. He merely glowered in reply.

"How are things at Hogwarts?"

"As can be expected." He replied, his face relaxing a bit at the change of subject. "Your friend Longbottom has turned out to be quite the revolutionary."

"Neville?"

"Indeed." Snape's smile was not flattering. "I had wondered whether the Sorting Hat was getting too mouldy, after Longbottom's sorting, but it seems the Gryffindor courage is setting in at least. McGonagall has been much pressed to keep him in check."

"Does she know? About you, I mean?"

"No. But I believe she suspects. And she knows that if I were replaced as a headmaster, the consequences would be worse."

"I see how it can be difficult to convince Neville of that. Or most Gryffindors I suppose."

Snape's eyes narrowed, before he replied: "How good then that you are not one of them. Or am I also frightening you, Granger?"

Hermione almost snorted. "I am a Gryffindor, sir. And Gryffindors aren't frightened."

"Self-delusion, however, they still master." Snape's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It is not a weakness to have fears."

"I know." Hermione replied with a smile. "But I am not afraid of you." She hadn't been since her third year at school where Snape had rescued her, Harry, and ... him ... from Remus-turned-werewoolf. And she wasn't now. Oddly, she felt safe. Or, at least more safe than she had since the wedding.

"Good." Snape's voice was warm now, almost a caress. Hermione wished she could disappear into it. "And I would not have it so."

For a while they stood in silence. A silence, that was welcome to Hermione. While she, Harry and ... he ... had been on the run, there had been much silence, but it had always been brooding. The conversations had been even worse. They had seemed to expect that she provide the answers and insights, had looked to her for guidance. But not Snape. At last she could talk to someone who knew what to do, someone who did not rely on her. And for the first time in months, Hermione found herself relaxing.

"And here?" Snape's voice broke the silence. "Are you any closer to your goal?"

"I don't know." She replied, desperation returning to her. "It is all so complicated. I thought Dumbledore had left Harry with a proper idea of what do do. But all we have are fragments and vague ideas. And Dumbledore left me this book with children's tales, and I simply don't know what to do."

Hermione looked up at Snape, expecting to see disdain or contempt. But his face was a blank mask, only his eyes were narrowed. Overwhelmed suddenly by all her feelings, she continued her tirade: "And they just expect me to find the answer. To provide solutions when there is no food, to find places where we can hide, and to cast all the protective spells. Now we even need to share my wand."

Blinking tears away from her eyes, she sobered for a moment. "I mean ... I want to fight him. I want Harry to defeat him. And want to help. It just feels so hopeless sometimes. And Harry has been so close to giving up, I must be strong for both of us. I simply don't know how much longer I can cope."

Again she looked up, meeting Snape's gaze. His face was still unreadable, but there was something close to warmth in his eyes. And more importantly, there was understanding.

"You can go on as long as you must." he replied, his voice soothing. "Giving in to hopelessness can be tempting. But I have always found it best not to dwell on the prospects. Focus on the task at hand, on what must be done. Prospects are subject to change, and hold little value in the present."

Hemione nodded and felt her despair getting weaker. He knew. He understood. His position was even worse than hers, and he did not give up. Fuelled by this, Hermione's pride spoke up. If Snape, the lonely bat of the dungeon could keep up the fight, Snape who was despised by every Order member, apart from her, then she could too. She, who had friends.

"Yes. Thank you." She replied, gifting her professor with a rare smile. "It just gets lonely sometimes. Even with Harry. He is fighting his own battles, and I can hardly burden him with mine. It was selfish to burden you."

"No." Snape's eyes had hardened again. "If you allow yourself to wallow in self pity, you cannot concentrate on helping Potter. And, since he has not yet blundered his way into a Death Eater attack, you seem to be doing fine. Doing what you must to help Potter is not selfish."

Hermione nodded again.

"I have little time left, before your charges return." Snape's voice had gone cold again.

"Charges?"

"Yes. Dunderheads they may be, but I don't expect even Potter and Weasley to take more than a few minutes to get the sword out of the lake."

"Weasley?" Hermione's voice was barely more than a breath. "Ron was there?"

"Yes. Shouldn't he be?"

"I don't know." Hermione stuttered. "He left us some time ago..."

"Left?" The ice in his voice made Hermione shiver. And instantly she knew she had been wrong about not fearing him. He was the scariest person she had ever known. At least at times.

"Yes. He was under a lot of strain and..." _Why am I defending him?_ She thought, flinching as she met Snape's eyes.

"How very Gryffindor of him." he spat. "Well, he is back now, probably expecting to be celebrated as a returning hero. He probably has been through quite some ... tormenting experiences while you were ... camping." His sarcasm was so bitter, it stung even Hermione. "Though I am intrigued to find out how he has managed to find you, given his inability to think for himself. If you ever find out, please tell me."

Hermione did not answer. She simply stared at Snape in shock, frightened of the sudden transformation. Gone was understanding, and replaced by the cruellest look of disgust she had ever witnessed.

Breathing in audibly, Snape seemed to steel himself, and his face became as unreadable as ever.

"I have a favour to ask of you, Miss Granger."

"Yes, of course. Anything." she replied, relieved that he was back to his normal self.

"Anything?" The honey in his voice combined with his smirk made her shrink back. "Be careful what words you choose, Miss Granger. I am a Slytherin, after all."

"I'm sorry, sir, I didn't think."

"Well, you had better learn it soon." The smirk vanished slowly. "But, as to the favour you have now promised to do for me:" Hermione swallowed. "I must speak to Potter before the end."

"Now?"

"No, not yet. Right before the end. It is very important that I talk to him before his final confrontation with the Dark Lord."

"I understand. I will do my best."

"You must do more than that." Snape narrowed his eyes, as if considering something. "Do you know about the Pensieve?"

"Yes."

"And do you know how to store memories for the Pensieve?"

"Well, I have never tried it, but I've read about it in..." Snape's glare cut her short.

"I will show you a spell." And producing his wand with impressive speed he did. "Can you remember it?" Hermione nodded. "Good. Now only one thing remains."

Snape's eyes bored into hers, and once again Hermione felt as if was able to look into her soul.

"Do you trust me?" It was no more than a whisper.

"Yes." She said it without thinking. Because she did not need to. She trusted him, and knew that she would do anything he asked of her. She knew at that moment that she should be afraid or on guard, but she wasn't. Here finally was someone who knew what to do. Someone who could guide her, help her do what was necessary.

"In case I should be ... incapable ... of providing Harry with the information, I can impart some of my memories to you. They will only be activated in case I should die, but I must ensure that Harry receives this information." Again she nodded. "Come closer."

On shaking knees she stepped forward, letting his presence wrap around her like a soothing embrace. For a moment she felt safe and protected, shielded from her despair and fears, from the war outside. She felt his fingers lightly touch her right cheek, temple and forehead, and heard the incantation spoken softly with his deep baritone voice. Closing her eyes, she lost herself in the moment, feeling his presence, letting it dispel her loneliness.

Gradually she felt his memories enter her mind. Though she could not see them, she felt their presence. It was a strange feeling, not unpleasant, but as if there was a memory that eluded her, something important she could not remember.

As his fingers left her skin, cold air brushed against the five small areas where they had been, making them tingle. Opening her eyes slowly, she saw that he was almost at the door, his back to her.

"Professor?" He stopped, but did not turn. "Will you do me a favour?"

"You still owe me one, Miss Granger." His voice seemed strangled. "Do you think it wise to owe me another?"

"I don't know." She paused. "Just please, stay alive?"

He turned, his glare so cold and intimidating it made her shrink back, his lips curling into a cruel snarl. "I have stayed alive so far, and have no plans to the contrary, Miss Granger. But be assured it is not out of any courtesy to you."

And with a final rustling of robes he was gone. Shivering from the sudden cold she felt, Hermione staggered back to the chair, pulling the blankets tightly around her. Perhaps it was the combination of the unexpectedness of his visit and the relief at hearing of Ron's return, Hermione later mused, that made her feel the loneliness so intently.

But a snide voice, she cunningly ignored, did not agree. At unguarded moments it would whisper to her of a touch that made her feel safe, of eyes that showed understanding, and of someone who had not left her due to dire prospects. Shaking her head, she would push the thoughts away, and commend Ron for returning. Realising one's mistake and trying to right the wrongs was commendable. And really, she could hardly blame him. She had been so close to doing the same. _But only close_, the snide voice would add.

* * *

Snape had long since given up on pacing in Dumbledore's office. It had only ever resulted in the portraits meddling in his affairs, which led only to further irritation.

In truth, whenever he really needed to think, he tended to return to his own office. After all, most of his plans had been developed there. And try as he might, he would never consider this office his. It was Dumbledore's, and always would be. Until, perhaps, McGonagall would take over. But he was the headmaster now, and thus required to use this office. His personal tastes hardly mattered in this. They rarely did.

Instead of pacing, he had taken to brooding in one of the chairs in front of the fire. It was a fine compromise: he was still in the Headmaster's office, but hidden from view from Dumbledore's portrait. Apart from all those occasions where Dumbledore had insisted on visiting the pretty landscape hung over the firepiece, that is. But not tonight. Tonight Dumledore was feigning sleep in his portrait, and Snape was merciful that he had escaped those blue eyes for a few hours. How Dumbledore managed to make his eyes twinkle even in death, Snape would never understand.

He did not fail to notice the change in the fire, as the flames and coals gradually transformed into the features of Lucius Malfoy. Nor did he fail to notice that some of the smugness had returned to his features. He still looked defeated and worn, but there was a gleam in his eyes Snape had not seen for years. A gleam, that filled Snape with a sense of foreboding.

"Severus?" Lucius' hoarse voice spoke through the flames. Snape adjusted his seat and looked fully at the face in the fire.

"Lucius." He drawled. "I have little time to chat."

"I have good news, Severus." Even the eagerness in Lucius' voice could not conceal the tinge of despair. Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Then surely you should be telling the Dark Lord of these, and not me."

"Well, yes, I will." The uncertainty was unmistakable now. "But there are slight complications, and I thought..."

"You thought I would be able to smooth things over?" Snape completed the sentence, his voice smooth as silk. "Well. Tell me, and we will see what I can do."

"We may have Potter."

"You _may_ have him?" Snape's eyebrow rose even further. "I should think one either has Potter or one hasn't. So which is it?"

"We are not sure it is him. He was brought in earlier."

"Not sure? Has been given to you in the form of a jigsaw puzzle?"

"He looks different, and Draco is not sure he recognises him. But he was accompanied by a Weasley and that Mudblood friend of his."

"Granger."

"Yes." Lucius seemed about to speak, but didn't.

"Congratulations, Lucius. The Dark Lord may yet realise what good and loyal servants you and your family are." He added a contemptuous smile. "But you still seem to have some concerns?"

"Yes." Lucius swallowed. "They had the Sword of Gryffindor."

"Impossible."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes." Snape sighed with irritation. "I believe your charming Sister-In-Law is storing it at Gringotts, is she not?" Lucius nodded "And Gringotts has not been broken into. The sword is safe. What your captives most likely carry is a fake."

"Are you certain the sword Bella has is not a fake?"

"Do you doubt me?"

"No, of course not." Lucius reply came promptly. "But how can it be verified."

"Only Goblins would know." Snape hoped that they did not have the time to leave for Gringotts. His mind was racing to try to find a solution that would not blow his cover.

"Ah good. We happen to have one at hand. I shall ask him then."

"And what of identifying the Boy Who Might Be Potter?"

"Oh, we'll have the Mudblood do that." The smile on Lucius face made Snape's stomach turn. Azkaban had not agreed with him. "Bella is looking forward to it already."

"Spare your strengths. It is unlikely she can tell you much."

"Oh? Wasn't she hailed as one of the brightest witches?"

"Hardly." Snape snorted. "She was never very accomplished at independent thinking, Lucius. You know full well what I think of her ... qualities."

"Well, but she is still one of Potters closest allies. She must know of his plans."

"Must she?" Snape allowed himself an amused smile. "Why, Lucius? Do you tell Narcissa about all your plans and adventures? Do not get your hopes high."

"If I did not know you better, dear friend, I'd say you were protecting the little Mudblood." An amused smile played around Lucius lips. Snape had to beat the urge to punch him.

"I am protecting you, my friend." Snape's voice did not betray any emotion. "If all you have found are Potter's erstwhile companions and no trace of the boy himself, our Lord will not be pleased. Do with them what you like, but do not get your hopes of redemption up."

"You are right." Lucius drew a deep breath. "How long do we have until he returns?"

"Another day, perhaps." Snape shrugged. "If needed, I may be able to keep him occupied for another one. Shall I come by the manor later?"

"Not necessary. I am certain you have enough on your plate already." Lucius saluted him once, and gradually his face left the flames.

Snape cursed.

Ignoring the muttering from the portraits on the wall he began pacing. He had to do something fast. If they had Granger, they also had Potter and the true Sword of Gryffindor. This was bad.

"You seem upset, Severus?" the jovial voice of Albus Dumbledore cut through his musings.

"I assume you heard what Lucius had to say?" Snape glanced up at the portrait of the former Headmaster.

"Naturally" Dumbledore replied. At least his eyes weren't twinkling, Snape noticed. "But it was to be expected."

"I will have to get them out of there." Snape sighed.

"No." Dumledore graced him with a rueful smile. "You cannot blow your cover, Severus. Too much depends on you."

Incredulously he stared at the portrait. Had the old man not heard?

"They will torture her." He sneered.

"Hermione Granger?" Albus inquired.

"Yes, Miss Granger!" Snape hissed. "Bellatrix will crucio the poor girl so badly, she will be wishing she was dead."

Dumbledore merely cocked an eyebrow over his half-moon bespectacled eyes. "We all have to make sacrifices, Severus."

"Sacrifices?" Severus spat. "Hasn't she suffered enough, already? If Bellatrix has her way with her, there will be nothing left of her. I have seen what that monster is capable of. I hardly need remind you of the Longbottoms, do I? Or is their madness just another sacrifice for the greater good?"

"Calm yourself, Severus." Dumbledore at least had the courtesy not to chuckle, though his gleaming eyes betrayed some mirth. "Since I seem to know you a lot better than Lucius does, I am quite convinced that you have begun caring about the young Know-It-All."

"Care about her?" Snape had stopped dead in his track. Care? He didn't particularly care about the Granger girl. She was useful. And kind. Desperate as he was, he would take kindness wherever he could find it, he knew that very well. Finding it in the shape of Hermione Granger was better than finding it in the form of a Acromantula, he would even agree to that. But care? He sighed. "She is my student, Albus. I have a certain responsibility to her welfare. And she is vital to Potter."

"If you say so, Severus." This time Dumbledore did not conceal his chuckle. "However I am quite certain that you underestimate her strength. She is not so fragile as you think."

"However strong she may be, she does not deserve to be tortured by Bellatrix. No one does."

"Oh, but we quite agree." Dumbledore beamed a smile at his successor. "We will need to find someone who can enter the manor. Someone, who is not you, I must add."

"Malfoy's old house elf." Severus replied.

"Ah yes, naturally. What a good idea." Dumbledore rose from his portrait. "I shall pay my sister a visit then. Perhaps she knows where Dobby is."

Snape looked after Dumbledore as he made his way through the portraits. Turning, he headed out the door. He needed privacy.

No one stopped him on his way to his dungeon. His scowl made sure of that. Once in his office, he poured himself a generous measure of firewhiskey.

Sacrifice? He sometimes wondered who was worse, the Dark Lord with his pure-blood supremacy, or Dumbledore with his ideological nonsense about the greater good and love. Downing the whisky in one gulp, he straightened, and stared into the flames in the fireplace.

He did hope she would not suffer. Was that caring? Hardly. He had seen her frailty as he had imparted some of his own memories to her. She had been so desperate, so easy to lure. He had often wondered what would have happened, had he been a loyal Death Eater. She was not unattractive. And, he had to admit, seemed not entirely impossible to corrupt.

A smirk appeared around his lips. As the Slytherin he was, he knew about corruption. Also the corruption of young women. There may not have been many of his students he had deemed interesting enough to invest his time and efforts in, but it had happened a few times. Slytherins look after their own, after all. (And the odd Ravenclaw, he added.)

He recalled their last meeting. How gladly she had relinquished to his leadership. It had been much easier than he expected. She had looked so blissful, so relaxed as he had touched her. Annoyed, he felt his loins stir at the memory of her face, eyes closed in some desperate hunger for company.

He sighed. This would not do. He did not have the time to be distracted by an annoying Gryffindor Know-It-All. Striding towards the door, he flung it open and prowled the hallway. It did not take long before he found what he was searching for. Miss Greengrass followed him, unbuttoning her shirt as soon as he closed the door to his study. Yes, he had corrupted some students during his time. It kept him from going insane. All just another sacrifice for the greater good, Snape mused with a smirk.

Bending her over his desk, he thrust into her from behind, revelling in her moan. But it did not take long before he paid little attention to her pleasure, ploughing into to her with abandon. He felt her clenching around him, vaguely registered her moans and spasms as she came, while thrusting in and out of her. In his mind, all he saw were two brown eyes, filled with compassion and admiration, and a fragile face. He was still imagining her, as he emptied himself in his student. Merlin's balls, he disgusted himself sometimes.

Annoyed he sent Miss Greengrass away, downing another measure of firewhiskey. He would get Miss Granger out of his mind, of that he was certain. But it took more effort than he liked to admit.


End file.
